


Pick up the pieces and go home

by somewhat_ethereal



Category: American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhat_ethereal/pseuds/somewhat_ethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AHS: Coven. One shot changing the events of the season finale in which Misty is saved from Hell. Foxxay. I'm moving all my things over from ff so this isn't new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pick up the pieces and go home

As each grain of sand audibly slipped through the narrowest part of the hourglass, Cordelia’s breathing became increasingly laboured. Misty isn't back yet. The girls, what remain of them, are safe and though her maternal instinct tries to insist that should be enough, she knows it’s not.

There’s not long left, not long, and Myrtle doesn't have to say a word to make it known she thinks the girl won’t come back, but Cordelia has hope, so much hope. Misty is her hope for the coven. She was the only one deserving of the power and position of Supreme, the only one who’d known suffering and wouldn't wish it on another soul. She was good, from tip to toe, and it wasn't self-righteous goodness like the bitch next door, it was inherent.

“She’s coming back, give her time,” she says, but the only one she’s convincing is herself.

* * *

As even more time passes, the tight knot of panic in her chest grew until it is too painful to bear. Misty isn't back yet. Something is wrong, something has gone wrong. She tries to think back, to the far too few conversations they've had for something which could indicate her worst fear, something that could help her to understand what Misty is going through right now, but the swamp witch had always refused to talk about pain or fear. She’d always shrug her shoulders, smile in that eternally hopeful way, and change the conversation. Each of the personal hells that the other girls had experienced was so obvious of what she knew of them, but she only knew Misty’s story from news reports and not from the woman herself.

She wasn't ready to let her go. She barely knew her. There hadn't been enough time to get to know her.

Cordelia had migrated to the floor perhaps an hour earlier, kneeling by the swamp witch’s prone form. She touched Misty’s hair, her shawl, her face. It was as much for her own sake as for the lost girl’s. There’s a treacherous voice in her head telling her she’ll never be able to do this again so she had better get her fill, she indulges these impulses even as she desperately tries to suppress this pessimism.

“She’s stuck, we have to help her.”

“There’s nothing we can do, she has to get back on her own,” Myrtle drawled and Cordelia couldn't help but resent the resignation in her voice.

Pulling her into her lap, she began smoothing back her tangled hair and breathing deeply. Her hair fell forward, hiding her face from view as tears burn in her torn up eyes. She doesn't want to let the others see her like this. They are vipers and these tears aren't for them, they are for her lost girl. Suddenly all she can smell is floral soap mixed with that indescribable scent which is only Misty and all she can here is the soft, reassuring sound of her breathing. With the loss of her sight and these heightened other senses it feels like they are the only people in the world, Misty is all she can perceive. Her memory of Misty’s face is clear, as clear as that of Fiona’s or Myrtle’s, like she’s seen that face for years and has had time to remember every aspect of it instead of their brief  time together.

What little she knows of Misty is that she always wanted a home where she could be accepted and loved like she’d never before experienced in her life, Cordelia needed to let her know that she had that here. Maybe that would bring her back.

“Follow my voice. We are all here waiting for you,” she whimpered, her voice thick with the tears she’s fooled herself into believing she’s successfully hiding.

Misty would never go there, would never have ended in hell, if it weren't for her. She felt profoundly responsible and she knew then that she would do everything within her power to save her charge from an eternity in hell, nobody could possibly convince her otherwise. Perhaps if she could summon the power to get there and if she could find Misty, perhaps she could find out what was wrong, find out what was stopping her and that would be enough for Misty to get back. Her own soul forfeit for the soul of the Supreme. It didn't matter really, they’d have Misty and they’d have Myrtle, her girls would be protected. This was more important.

“Sequere lucem. Venite ad me.”

* * *

The teachers’ hands are coarse, the frogs’ skin is smooth and yielding, the scalpel is cold. The lab smells of death, something she has been in contact with much during her life but it is especially nauseating just knowing that her hands are the cause not the cure. The sound of the snickering students is only broken by Misty’s wailing and the teachers’ admonishments. The buzzing strip lighting is too bright; it leaves specks on her vision and a dull ache behind her eyes. She’s in sensory overload, it’s all too much to take in at once and it’s leaving her dazed and confused.

She can’t think straight, but she feels like this has happened before, her memories and thoughts are a blur. She doesn't feel right, there’s something wrong about this class, about this world. It doesn't fit, she doesn't fit. These thoughts come quickly but almost the moment they arrive they are replaced by the revulsion she feels at taking a life.

* * *

“Mommy, I-“

“Not now Delia, I've better things to do.”

The situation is not unfamiliar; it’s a re-enactment of almost every day she’s ever spent in her mother’s presence. She tries to impress but she’s brushed aside, she’s unwanted. It’s so typical of every relationship she’s ever had, she should be used to it, but it just leaves her feeling painfully inferior. There’s something else, she must have something else that will make her mother love her.

The scene changes, another childhood flashback. She is studying tirelessly but no natural talent has seemed to appear though she has practiced for hours and hours at a time. She is no witch and yet Fiona sends her to Robichaux’s anyway, perhaps hoping that being teased and tormented by the young witches who study there will encourage some sort of survival instinct and trigger her magic. Her mother was disgusted at her lack of a gift, it reflects badly on her as the Supreme, to have a powerless child. Something else, there’s got to be-

It hit her all at once, like a speeding car or a bullet, whatever else there is will never be enough. This isn't real, Fiona is dead. She’s dead, and Cordelia won’t let her spectre stop her from doing her duty. She’s good enough, good enough to protect the coven, good enough to break out of hell.

The scene changes, this time she’s in the kitchen with Marie Laveau and her mother is advancing menacingly, she knows she’s coming to strike her for the transgression of being so desperate for love that she’d endangered the coven. This is perhaps her greatest regret, she hurt her girls because of her own selfishness, but this time she won’t. She’ll save Misty and in saving Misty she’ll save all of them. In the moment just before the blow hits she stands up and steps aside, walking away from her mother and not looking back.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” The memory of Fiona drawls after her, her voice sardonic and without any sort of motherly compassion.

“To save the coven.”

* * *

Misty awoke with a start, breathing deeply as if she’d been drowning. She was confused, she didn't remember having gone to sleep, one moment she was standing upright in her fifth grade biology class and the next she was laid out on a threadbare rug holding hands with someone.

She turned her head on one the side to see who’s gripping her hand so tightly and slowly, one by one, the memories return. She felt sick, confused and maybe even a little angry. She shifted to lie facing her mentor and laid her right hand over the others.

“The time was already up.” Myrtle’s tone is as theatrical and unreadable as ever, in the background Maddison is swearing and screaming her protestations but Misty doesn't pay either of them any mind. None of this really matters does it? Not when she was almost damned for the rest of eternity, Madison has nothing on the things she’d seen down there. She can’t stop staring at Cordelia, her hair has fallen over her face, obscuring her from sight. The only thing that lets Misty know she’s still alive is the slighting rise and fall of her chest that indicates she’s still breathing.

“She did it, she… brought me back.”

“That’s not possible.”

She’s shaking with nerves and possibly adrenaline (if anything will get your heart pumping it’s almost spending an eternity in hell) but she reaches out with one hand, pushing back Cordelia’s hair with the baseless hope that her face will hold the answer as to whether or not she’ll wake up. What she finds is surprising enough that it even manages to shut Madison up.

“The mark of a Supreme is unerring good health.”

Cordelia’s eyes snap open.

Clear. Brown. Beautiful.

Misty never saw her real eyes before.

* * *

The rest of the day passes quickly, surprisingly so, and each of the girls in turn fail to complete the tasks of the Seven Wonders now that Delia has embraced her own power. In spite of the excitement of earlier that day night comes anyway, as it always does, and the witches of Miss Robichaux’s must eventually retire.

Cordelia has been staring at the ceiling for hours, she can’t seem to stop thinking in circles and relax. It feels like she’ll close her eyes and fall asleep and when she wakes up again and it’ll all have been a dream. She can hardly believe everything she’s done, she certainly never thought she was capable of it, and all because she reached into hell and brought Misty back. Her mind keeps on being drawn back to that moment and everything she saw in hell, in the many different hells, and the very first thing she saw with her new eyes. Misty’s face.

It’s cold. It always is in Robichaux’s at night despite the Louisiana heat, something to do with the soul of the building. It feels different though, there’s definitely a difference, there’s no oppressive presence now. She feels lighter, like she could float right off the bed, but she doesn't let herself get carried away with that thought because with her new powers she wouldn't be surprised if she did.

There’s a knock on the door and Cordelia doesn't need her gifts to know that it’s Misty.

“Come in,” she called, propping herself upright but not actually getting out of bed.

The door opened and quickly filled with a dark silhouette against the hall lighting. Misty cast a strip of shadow across the room before stuttering apologies under her breath and closing the door behind her. Ending the stark monochrome and returning the room to the ambient yellow lighting from the streetlights filtering through the chiffon curtains. Misty joined Cordelia on the bed, perching on the edge but leaning close, the proximity leaves the Supreme feeling breathless.

“Can’t you sleep?” Cordelia asked stupidly.

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes.”

They sat together like that for several minutes before Misty finally brought herself to speak. “You saved me.”

“Oh,” Cordelia said, taken aback for a moment. She’s so touched that the woman has thought to thank her but really it doesn't seem necessary, she’d always have done it. She wants to reach out and take Misty’s hands, reassure her physically where she lacks the eloquence to do so verbally, but it doesn't seem right now. Misty is so distant, so far away from her in this dark room with her face hidden from sight in the shadows, her hair shining in the streetlights which backlight her almost artistically. “You don’t have to thank me Misty, it’s alright.”

“It’s not alright,” Misty whispered urgently in reply. Only now does she actually look up from her hands and at Cordelia’s face. Cordelia is yellow-gold in the otherwise darkness. It reminds her of just how she appeared in hell. Cordelia had been beautiful and shining then too, she’d turned Misty’s face away from the decimated corpse of the frog, smiling beneficently all the while, and taken her blood-stained hands in hers. Hell was so much worse than dying, and she’s not sure if you can ever really come back from that. Misty shivers just thinking about it, she feels like she’s going to shed all her skin like a snake, she feels too different for this world now. These feelings are too much to hold inside. “It’s not alright, you saved me but it’s not- it’s not the same Miss Delia. You dragged right outta hell. I didn't come back, you brought me and that means somethin’ bad. You’re the only person who ever came back for me, but you shouldn't have. You don’t double-cross the devil without payin’ the price.” 

“Misty, you were trapped but you didn't belong there. There’s nothing to worry abo-”

“The price has gotta be paid, Miss Delia. I know you and most the rest of them don’t believe in anything but yourselves but I went to church and I read the bible and I know that you can’t escape hell. Not really. You should have just left me there.”

She’s crying. Delia can hear it in her voice, feel it in the way the bed shakes from her sobs, and it’s far too much for her to bear. Throwing caution to the wind she reached out and cradled the other woman’s face in her hands, catching streams of tears on the pads of her thumbs and threading her fingers into her hair, before speaking in the most soothing voice she could muster. “I couldn't leave you there.”

“Things are always getting’ taken away from me, sometimes people take themselves away or they take others. Like my friends and family before I died, and then Zoe and Kyle before I came here. I don’t want a part of me to be taken away too. What about my soul?” Misty almost howled the last word. Sounding almost feral and as if it were being painfully ripped from her being that very moment, her heaving sobs echo throughout the sparsely furnished room.

 “No one is taking anything from you ever again,” she whispered urgently, guiding the younger woman forward and into her arms. From this position the sparse light illuminated her blotchy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks but Cordelia didn't even notice as she mumbled soothingly against Misty’s golden curls. “Your soul isn't gone, your soul is right here. I can feel it, trust me. My mother, she had no soul and anyone who knew her could sense it but not you. Yours is right where it’s always been.”

For once Misty just lets herself cry. No Stevie and no twirling to force herself to repress the pain she was feeling. She sobbed against Cordelia’s shoulder until there were no more tears to cry and even after that she simply lay curled up in her lap with her arms wrapped tightly around the Supreme’s waist, staring at the wall as fingers comb through her hair. She’s not sure if she completely buys that she’s escaped the underworld unharmed but it’s enough for now to simply be held and cared for. Their positions reminded her of how it had been with Kyle when she’d nursed him back to health, she’d only wanted for him and Zoe to stay so that she could have something resembling a family but they’d both rejected her for each other. She couldn't help but reminisce on that sting even as she thought that just maybe she’d found what she was looking for in Cordelia.

“Why did you do it?”

Cordelia took a single long minute to consider the question but for the life of her she couldn't precisely remember her thought process before going to hell, the only thing she could really recollect was just the absolutely knowledge that she had to get Misty out of there. “I don’t- I don’t really remember, I guess I just knew that I couldn't let you stay there and that I was willing to risk everything to get you out.”

Misty shifts slightly, turning so their faces are only centimeters apart, and she’s shaking again, although this time it’s nerves. She leant forward, pressing her lips against the other woman’s and only moving back after she felt Cordelia return the kiss. “Thanks, for saving me, and for this too.”

“I’ll do it again if it earns me another kiss,” Cordelia said with a shy smile.

“You don’t need to,” Misty laughed and leant in once again.

**Author's Note:**

> The characters and world used within this work of fiction do not belong to me.


End file.
